


Out of Luck

by dahkani



Category: RWBY
Genre: Injury Recovery, happy ending tho dw, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22107832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahkani/pseuds/dahkani
Summary: An over-worked and exhausted Clover Ebi falls victim to Qrow's Semblance when his Aura breaks while out on the field. Prompt by @mariafuckingcalavera from the Fair Game Discord!
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 174





	Out of Luck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mariafuckingcalavera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/gifts).



“That’s the last of ‘em,” Qrow sounded off, pulling Harbinger out of a quickly fading Grimm corpse. He sensed movement to the right. Lazily and with careless grace, he fired a bullet that found its home in the skull of a Grimm. “Alright, that’s the last of them,” he corrected.

“Nice work, Qrow. Let’s get back.” Clover buzzed in his ear so irritatingly it was a wonder how he’d adjusted to using an earpiece. Communicating with another on the field was a skill from so long ago it had began to rust. Perhaps that was why he didn’t offer a response, instead returning to the van, kicking up the snow as he walked.

“Qrow?” Clover came through in his ear again, louder now, and with the slightest hint of concern dancing in his voice like a howl on the wind. Qrow stopped in his tracks. It was usually Ruby pulling on his sleeves when he forgot to reply.

“I’m fine, Clover,” he replied, fighting back the irritation threatening to creep in to his voice. A younger version of himself would have snapped back in frustration at someone checking in on him so frequently like a child - or perhaps a more drunk version would too. It was a side of himself he didn’t like to bring back up. “You know what I’m like. Just forget to reply.”

“And I don’t want the next time you don’t reply to be for a different reason,” Clover responded. He’d never admit it, but small things like that from Clover always made him smile. That boy scout really did make for a great leader, and they made for a great pair.

Both of them could practically sense it the moment they met. The similarities their Semblances had. And when they were both active and neither was being amplified, Clover found himself naturally shielded from the harmful effects of Qrow’s Semblance, like light holding back darkness. Sadly, it worked both ways; Qrow didn’t catch any lucky breaks from Clover’s Semblance either. Nevertheless, the two found themselves paired on missions together all too often - and what started out as a professional relationship had quickly blossomed like a sapling in spring.

When he made it back to the van, Clover had both doors open and was waiting for him, even offering him a hand to help him up. Qrow shot him a look over his shoulder as he closed the doors, chuckling quietly. “You’ll take any excuse to get your hands on me, huh?” He could still feel the ghost of Clover’s touch on his hands.

“That was purely professional,” Clover mused, throwing up his hands in mock innocence. Qrow just shook his head and laughed, muttering under his breath.

“Liar.”

“What was that?” Clover asked, turning on his heel to face Qrow once the doors were safely secured. Like a lion stalking prey he walked toward him, but Qrow stood tall. The two were constantly locked in some kind of battle of wits, or competition of snide jokes and silver tongues.

“I said,” Qrow began, taking a seat on one of the blankets and pillows they’d laid out beside a make-shift crate for a table. A mess of cards laid atop it, a relic from a game quickly interrupted. “One of these days, you’ll get it through your thick skull you don’t need an excuse. How much further to go?”

Clover could only shake his head in disbelief of Qrow’s careless and candid attitude. To offer an answer to his question, however, Clover had to check his scroll. “Thirty three minutes. But in about eleven we’ll enter a Grimm hotspot, so we’ll have to be on high alert. In other words, no more games.” Clover pocketed his scroll, letting himself fall to the floor opposite Qrow and release a sigh that rippled through his body. When he thought Qrow wouldn’t notice, he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

Qrow raised an eyebrow and registered it in the back of his mind as something to come back to. For now, he’d do Clover the favour of pretending he saw nothing. “Great. Less games for me to enjoy losing.”

Clover swept up the cards and began shuffling, cocking his head and smirking. “You love losing to me.”

Qrow merely rolled his eyes. “I pity these guards,” he teased, jerking his head back to signify the drivers in the front. At that, Clover went vaguely scarlet and didn’t quite have a sly reply prepared. Qrow got countless kicks off of using Clover’s rank against him. It was the kind of thing he didn’t care much for, paying it all the attention of a needless formality. But Clover’s pride in his status and the joy his position gave him was something Qrow valued, at least. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

When Clover’s mind finally thought of something smart to say, he opened his mouth but didn’t get far. A ferocious rocking knocked the balance of their cargo, almost sending them hurdling. The two exchanged a quick glance, before Clover nodded at Qrow, giving him the go-ahead. In no time at all, Qrow fired out the back of the van, stabbing Harbinger into the ground to stop himself. A horde of manticore Grimm had descended upon them like a plague, black bodies blotting out the sheen of snow. They wasted no time, a blast of fire melting the frost and snow on the ground Qrow had been standing at just moments before.

There were five of them, a fairly sized pack. Qrow could take them on alone, as long as he was careful. Yet alone wasn’t the way his new life was lived; even if his new reality involved his worst fears dancing around every corner.

“Qrow!” Clover yelled from the van, as though suddenly brought to his senses. He should’ve been out at the same time as Qrow, not trailing behind like a rookie. Qrow’s eyes shot open to glare at him as he batted away a powerful tail from one of the manticores.

“Stay back! I can handle this,” Qrow reassured, a shot from Harbinger wounding another manticore. He didn’t want Clover to get involved. Though the boy scout hid it well, Qrow noticed every small detail. The yawns he suppressed, the vacant stare in his eyes, how slow he’d been to react to the attack when Qrow could hardly keep up with him most other days.

“You’re not doing this alone, Qrow,” Clover said, as though chiding him. As though Qrow had went back to his old ways of only looking out for himself. As though he’d ever actually want to push Clover away.

Qrow was occupied, unable to keep an eye on him. He spun Harbinger, growing frustrated at the situation, and fed another one of his bad habits. He let emotion spin his blade and place his shots, and like a fire fed gasoline he tore through the three manticore before him. When he next breathed, he felt his fury fly away like dust in the wind.

The next thing he felt was panic as a thought bit into him like the cold winds of Atlas. A thought of a tired man fighting diligently around him. Who had been nearby when his emotions had flared up; when he’d felt the black dog within him rear its ugly head, fed by every negative emotion he felt. Spinning on his heel, he saw it happen as Clover deflected a stream of flames and sever the tail of the second last manticore.

Clover’s Aura broke, showing on his skin like glass cracking in a mirror for a brief moment that felt as though it lasted forever. And like the light of a candle finally extinguished, shadows lunged in.

“Clover!” Qrow roared, voice breaking as he yelled. Clover turned to look at him, curious what the problem was; a stomp that would’ve flattened him forced him to jump backwards to avoid the blow. The two beasts had begun working in tandem, pushing him backwards, forcing him to dodge repeatedly and without a chance to get a moment to breathe.

Qrow began to run, noticing how easy it felt to slip when his Semblance was the only force remaining. This was a story he’d seen too many times before. Each time Clover dodged, he tempted fate. And it was only a matter of time until fate won the bet.

He wasn’t closing the distance fast enough, cursing how far he’d tried to lead the Grimm away from the van - he hadn’t wanted Clover to fight. The frigid winds of Atlas, the combined Aura drain of both their Semblances in tandem, and the strain of two fights back to back - it was too much for a man who’d already pushed himself far past his limit. Qrow almost slipped as he ran, and he cursed under his breath; pushing off the ground and turning into a crow, flying to close the distance.

But of course, Qrow never learned. And as soon as he got too close, Clover’s ankle seemed to give out as he jumped for a dodge, and he was sent sprawling to the frozen wasteland. A vicious swipe from one of their paws sent him flying, and when the force of the blow finally stopped moving him, Qrow could swear he saw red.

Transforming back as he descended, neither manticore could move an inch further. Harbinger’s edge severed them and they fell to the ground like snowflakes. Qrow sliced them both one more time, ensuring their death, before running to Clover.

“Clover, Clover, I’m sorry,” Qrow began, before realizing Clover had already passed out - his words were wasted. Still they fell from his lips like stars falling to earth, and tears fell too, splattering on his tan skin like broken promises. With shaking hands, he pulled Clover close and stood, racing against time to the van. He threw open the doors, barking commands to the two guards at the front - Atlas, as fast as they could move. He could barely close the doors and lock them in time, before turning his attention to the love he was dangerously close to losing.

Lifting his shirt to assess the damage, Qrow felt his heart jump in his chest, threatening to spill out his throat. It was a wound that would surely scar, but it didn’t look dangerously close to anything vital. But how was he to know?

Kicking open a first aid box - brought with them on every mission - he cleaned the wound and bandaged it as best he could, rolling the fabric around him with hands shaking like blades of grass in the wind. Clover’s skin had gone as pale as Qrow’s, his breathing shallow and unsteady - at least it was still there.

Qrow sat back, staring at Clover, yet not truly seeing him. How could he have let this happen? He should have said nothing. That distraction almost cost him his life. He should have lead all the Grimm away sooner - he could handle a horde of that size with maybe a small scratch here or there. He shouldn’t have gotten so close; his Semblance had lunged for Clover the second it could as though sentient, as though aware Clover could avoid it. As if paying him back all the bad luck he should’ve had.

The cold of the walls around him did nothing to dampen the burning shame of guilt in his chest. Instinctively he reached for his flask, and only got angrier at himself when he realized where his hand was going. Like a dam bursting, tears turned to floods, and he curled up into himself as he retreated from the world.

It was anyone’s guess how long he had stayed like that. The trip from the colosseum to Atlas was an hour and a half of silence. Like a weapon, he wielded his words; reminding himself of his own failures, his malignance, his curse. He was a bad luck charm not fit to be near others for too long. He was a fool to think he could ever escape it, ever truly outrun it. He only stirred when Clover did; at the first sign of movement, Qrow’s head had shot up, and like a bullet fired from a gun or a train on a track, he collided with Clover with tears that were now shed for a brief respite of joy in a sea of sorrow.

“Clover! Clover, oh thank God, you’re alive,” he croaked, voice hoarse from tears. Clover blinked, vision blurry; he could recognize Qrow through touch alone.

“What happened?”

Like a dog scolded, Qrow pulled back a little. He looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Your Aura broke. And when it did, my Semblance…”. The rest was left unspoken, but a gesture to his wound let Clover fell in the blanks. “I’m sorry, Clover. I’m sorry. This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have gotten so close, I shouldn’t have gotten carele-”.

He was stopped by Clover pulling him forward, pushing their lips together as he held him by the collar of his shirt. Time stood still for a second time; though this was a moment Qrow wanted to last forever. His lips were soft and overflowing with warmth, yet he could taste the slightest hint of his own tears. When at last they stopped to breathe, Qrow was too stunned to move, lips just inches from Clover’s as their foreheads touched.

“You saved my life, Qrow. Thank you.”

“I… saved you?” Qrow asked in disbelief. “I’m the only reason you got hurt in the first place.”

Clover sighed, eyebrows falling with disappointment. “Qrow, my Aura was so low I shouldn’t have been out in the field. It should never have broken like that. It was my own fault. Stranded out in the tundra with such low Aura is a recipe for disaster no matter who I'm with.”

Qrow pulled back a bit, eyes twinkling like the night sky, burning with curiosity. In the corner of his eye, remnants of his self-hatred, which Clover was determined to defeat.

“Why was it so low in the first place?” Qrow asked, but the answer didn’t come from Clover himself. It came from the memory of Clover yawning flickering in his mind like a flame; it came from the way his movements had been that slight half-beat off time that nobody else would notice but Qrow. Eyes widening further in shock, before narrowing in anger, it all clicked. “You’ve been taking this too far. You haven’t slept for days, have you?”

Clover’s cheeks blushed, and now it was his time to avoid eye contact; Qrow’s disappointment was different to Clover’s. Where Clover was soft yet firm, Qrow’s anger burned like wildfire. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, Clover! And for what? So Jimmy can get his pet project done half a day sooner?”

Clover opened his mouth as if he was going to object, but no words came out. He whimpered and slunk back down in defeat. Sighing, Qrow’s gaze softened. Fire could burn, but its warmth could heal and its light could protect if it was careful.

“If you’re not gonna take care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.”

Pulling him up carefully, leaving him with no room to object, Qrow propped him up against a pillow in the corner so he wouldn’t be pushed around while the van moved. From their rations, a bottle of water and whatever he could find that passed for food. Like a hawk watching its young, Qrow stared at Clover as he ate, daring him not to. When at last he finished, Qrow took his place beside him, sharing a blanket and pushing his body against Clover.

“Don’t want you dying from the cold,” Qrow chuckled, yet Clover could only weakly roll his eyes.

“Now who’s desperate for an excuse?” Clover managed as his lips curled into a small grin.

“Alright, great, you’re cured,” Qrow muttered. “Next time I’m leaving you to the Grimm.”

They shared a laugh until silence fell between them. Clover took shallow and careful breaths as though each one was a challenge. Every breath was a gift to Qrow’s ears yet a reminder that they weren’t quite out of the woods. He chose not to think about that. Clover’s Aura was probably slowly regenerating as they rested, beginning to patch up his wound to make things smoother when they finally arrived back at Atlas. The thought sparked an idea in his mind, retrieving his Scroll from his pocket and typing out an email to Ironwood with choice words and a gentle request.

He could only hope that James finally understood it was often times easier for everyone involved if you let Qrow Branwen have his way. Otherwise, he’d stubbornly get it through any number of unorthodox ways.

“You’re taking the rest of today and tomorrow off,” Qrow said with finality. “You’re gonna rest until your injury is healed, and then you’re gonna rest some more. James will be fine with it. When he finds out you’ve gotten hurt on the field… it might not go down so well. Sure, it was just a scratch this time, but…” Qrow trailed off. What was the best way to tell someone their presence was one of the few things keeping Atlas grounded in reality?

“You’ve been crying,” Clover said, eyes glistening themselves as he noticed the clean streaks down the dirt on Qrow’s face, the redness of his eyes.

Qrow blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. “Uh… yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why?” The question felt like an accusation.

“You got hurt. You could’ve died. Weird question, y’know,” Qrow scoffed, but his sudden air of defensiveness and the way he turned away from Clover’s gaze exposed the lie to both of them. So instead, he sighed, and turned back to face him. The look Clover gave him was one of acceptance, remorse, and warmth.

This time, there were no tears.

“You can’t blame yourself for every bad thing that happens, Qrow. Especially when you’re the one who always makes things right.”

And as Clover pulled Qrow closer into him, the peace they shared offered a message. That for once, things would be all right.

“Hmph. How come you almost died and you’re the one comforting me at the end of all this?”

Clover scoffed. “You saved my life. I think I owe you.”

Qrow chuckled, shaking his head. He pushed up against Clover, the two resting on each other, deathly still as if they were two lovers meeting the end of days. Together, they were limitless, their fears forgotten, carried away by the others light.

“I’m so glad I met you.”

**Author's Note:**

> screw your zodiac sign, who do you think said the last line? :')


End file.
